


You take care me of like I'm someone that matters

by captainhurricane



Category: Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Character, Bathing/Washing, Cloud is genderqueer and in this essay I will, Couch Cuddles, Crossdressing, Gender Identity, Kissing, Lingerie, M/M, Praise Kink, Sugar daddy!Andrea, unbetaed we die like women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24621661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainhurricane/pseuds/captainhurricane
Summary: Andrea takes cares of his boy.
Relationships: Andrea Rhodea/Cloud Strife
Comments: 13
Kudos: 107





	You take care me of like I'm someone that matters

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really like to use the tag crossdressing, especially since I don't view Cloud as a cis man but .. anyway. You get the point. 
> 
> fic also briefly touches on Corneo's sex trafficking so be aware of that.
> 
> title is from a song (Briana Marela - Take Care of Me)

At some point it becomes a monthly thing. Despite leaving Midgar like a fire had been lit under their asses, part of the crew makes their way back to it at least twice, if not three times, a month. Mostly Aerith wishes to go see the kids at the Leaf House, and Tifa wants to go see the reconstruction of her home-sector, often joined by Barret, and to the surprise of many, Vincent. The solemn, silent man always gathers curious onlookers wherever he goes.

And then there’s Cloud. 

Well. Cloud wants to go see the man so constantly on his mind. As far as he knows, Wall Market has seen some changes, ever since Cloud and his friends plowed through it the first time they were here. Don Corneo’s mansion has been razed to the ground, his businesses destroyed and, well. 

Madam M reigns supreme now, having taken extreme pleasure in personally stomping on Corneo’s most gaudy decorative pieces. She had chosen to stay in her previous establishment, but had reworked the environment until her whole place glows, until flowers bloom around it. A fitting place for a fancy madame as her. 

It’s her that Cloud sees first, as he steps into the Wall Market, fresh off his recent journeys, with some new scars to show. The sword on his back is a new one, but his turtleneck is the same old one, worn-out by constant use. Now safely underneath his leather jacket and the blue scarf Aerith especially had insisted he wear. His hair’s a little longer, flopping more often to his eyes. But letting spunky little Yuffie or the doting Tifa near his hair with scissors… nah. And Cid cuts his own hair, so that’s a no too. 

To be frank, Cloud doesn’t want to bother Aerith either with such a little request. So it is like this, swept back from his brow now, a little ponytail sticking over his collar.

“Oh,” he says when he spots the madame, speaking with presumably a customer outside of her place. Madam M is as Cloud remembers her: beautiful and powerful, her kimono a fiery red with golden accents this time, her hair gathered into another elaborate hairdo. Since it’s heading into autumn, she’s wrapped into a cloak on top of that too. She bids her speaking companion farewell, then her gaze flicks to Cloud. 

“Oh,” she says in return. “If it isn’t little Mr. Cloud.” She stands a little straighter, her elaborate fan waving lazily against her face. “Up for a little chat with our illustrious Andi again?” 

Cloud blushes. Irritably, he rubs his cheek. “Don’t you start that.” 

“Mmmhm,” says Madam M. “You do know me, Sam and Andrea sit down for drinks once a week. And he always ends up talking about you.” She lifts an elegant eyebrow. Her fan waves lazily, keeping up the illusion that she doesn’t pay attention to her surroundings. Such a trait proves useful when in business negotiations, especially with those who worked with the Don previously. 

Crossing his arms, Cloud straightens. “He does?” His heart takes a little extra beat, just a little stutter in its usual rhythm. 

She taps Cloud’s cheek with a fan, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “It’s cute. I’ve known him for quite a while, but I’ve never seen him this interested in someone. Quite a great number of unhappy Honeyboys and girls though, now that his special attention is limited to someone else.” She winks. 

Cloud squints at her, suspicious. His neck is suspiciously warm. “Don’t talk shit,” he says.

Madam M snorts. “Cute,” she says again. “Now, run along to twirl that man around your finger. I think he’s actually outside for once, doing something or other at the front of the Honeybee. Nice to see that preening peacock do something else than love himself.” WIth that, she waves a dismissive hand and Cloud finds his protest dying on his lip. 

Geez. She is terrifying. But at least she isn’t a sleazy Don, and she took care of both Cloud and Aerith the first time they were here. So that’s something. 

Cloud huffs and leaves, reaching to adjust his latest giant sword. 

  
  


It’s easy to get lost in the familiar noise of the Wall Market. Ever since the Don got overthrown, it has seen some changes, but mostly the winding narrow walkways are the same, the same shops, the same people - Cloud even spots Johnny’s blazing red hair, a giggly girl on his arm - and the same old Honeybee. Its lights twinkle invitingly, and the usual crowd is hanging around the entrance, day drinking or chatting, or hassling the bouncer. 

Andrea, despite Madam M’s words, is nowhere to be seen. 

The bouncer recognizes Cloud. “Heyyyyy, spiky boy!” The guy’s as tall as Barret, but has a smile that shines like a sun. He waves Cloud in easily, patting him on the shoulder. Cloud’s neck feels warm. He blinks with the adjustment of outside sunshine to indoors dim light, blinks again to get the spots out of his eyes. 

“If it isn’t Mr. Cloud,” says the receptionist, Tommy or Ronnie, Cloud can’t quite remember. Possibly-Tommy taps on his computers behind the desk, a few neat stacks of papers around him. A high feminine laughter echoes in the air. Cloud wets his lips.

“Uh. Is… is he in?” 

Possibly-Ronnie winks. “Honey, he’s always in for you. Go on up.” 

“Not your honey,” Cloud says, like he’s said a hundred times before, but the pretty young man with his perfectly coiffed hair merely shrugs and gestures towards the carpeted stairs. Neck warm, Cloud begins to climb up, careful of his giant sword, trying his best to not leave muddy footprints all over the neat carpets. 

Oh boy. He stops when he reaches the top of the stairs, nibbles his lip. His heart races. He tugs off his gloves, stuffs them under his belt, rubs his palms together. This isn’t the first time he’s been here, certainly, but the same excitement still curls in his belly, the same pleasant heat. He pats his hair, but the fluff stays the same: spiky, impossible to tame. With a sigh, Cloud walks onwards to Andrea’s door. 

He knocks. 

He has a moment to breathe, to let himself be wrapped in the caring, warm, mindset of this place, of someone who deserves the attention Andrea lavishes on him: Cloud plays with the thin silver bracelet on his right wrist, the latest gift. Another is safely hidden under his shirt, warm against his skin. Cloud may not care for outrageous jewellery or even presenting himself particularly wild, but he doesn’t mind these little things.

Inside Andrea’s rooms, however - 

The man himself opens the door, already smiling, dark eyes amused. “I was expecting you, darling,” Andrea Rhodea purrs and pulls Cloud in. 

The air in Cloud’s lungs is stuck, for a single moment, at the sight of Andrea Rhodea. Even outside of performances, Andrea dazzles. Face makeup-free, only dressed in what look like silky loungewear, he dazzles. 

“Hope you weren’t waiting too long,” Cloud murmurs as a way of greeting. He carefully takes his sword and lays it against the wall, doing his best to not scratch Andrea’s neat wooden floors. Probably the nicest floors in all of the Sectors. Cloud takes off his boots, sets them neatly by the door and gets himself a grin as a reward.

“Not at all, my darling,” Andrea hums. “I had paperwork to do. Call me old fashioned, but I highly prefer doing work by hand, instead of a computer.” He gestures dismissively towards said computer, an ancient grey block of wires and metal, sitting morosely at the corner of Andrea’s writing desk. 

Cloud drifts towards it, but lifts his eyebrows at Andrea’s pile of files. Andrea’s handwriting is neat, as fabulous as the man himself. The same man, who now drifts to Cloud, sliding a warm hand against his neck. 

“You are looking a little too ragged, sweetheart,” Andrea murmurs. “Do tell me of your adventures.” He starts to massage Cloud’s neck, fingertips gentle on the soft fair hair, dipping under the collar of Cloud’s turtleneck. 

The corners of Cloud’s mouth twitch. “They’re adventures now? Last time it was a quest. We’re saving the world, you know.” 

Andrea hums. “Oh, I know. Big hero.” He slides closer, curls his other hand around Cloud’s bicep and squeezes. “Saving the world, one person at a time.” His hands slide up, up, the man himself slides between Cloud and the table, cups Cloud’s face. “Not sleeping enough. Bad dreams, my dear?” 

Cloud meets his eyes, a little reluctant. Despite the amount of times spent in close quarters with his friends, despite the amount of quiet moments spent with them, the shit they’ve been through - still admitting these things out loud takes a lot out of him. “Andrea,” Cloud huffs. He tugs off his gloves, tosses them to the table, enjoys the little twitch on Andrea’s perfectly handsome face. Cloud lays his hands on top of Andrea’s. “I’m doing fine enough. I’m not alone.” 

The corners of Andrea’s eyes wrinkle. “Now that, I am glad to hear. It wouldn’t do for my beautiful boy to not come back to me each month.” He rubs the little scratch by Cloud’s lower lip, his smile widening, when Cloud’s cheeks bloom hot. “Now, sit with me and tell me everything.” 

So Cloud does, always a little out of place in Andrea’s space, every centimeter of this apartment smelling like Andrea, looking like him - and Cloud is battleworn, all of his traumas chewing on his heart. 

Yet Andrea takes his hand and kisses it, eyes twinkling, helping Cloud take off his harness and belt, despite Cloud’s halfhearted protest of doing it himself. The harness, the belt, Cloud’s bracelet, all end up in a heap on the floor. 

Cloud tells him of going to the Western Continent, of seeing his hometown again - about finding a man sleeping in a coffin at the basement of the old, dilapidated Shinra Mansion. Andrea outright laughs, all sultriness and honey, when Cloud tells him about meeting the man behind Cait Sith. 

“Ha! That Mister Tuesti once came to us here at the Honeybee,” Andrea murmurs, pulling Cloud close. 

Cloud, not a fan of being touched, goes easily enough. Andrea’s hands are always elegant, always warm. Those fingers slide through Cloud’s hair. “He did?” Cloud inhales, deep. The silk of Andrea’s shirt is smooth against his cheek. 

“Mm-mm. You did not hear this from me, my dear, but he treated my little bees very well and tipped handsomely. One wishes his colleagues were of the decent sort as well.” 

Cloud grunts in agreement. Fuck Shinra: they could do a world of good, they could save the Planet instead of be so active in fucking it over. Cloud rubs his cheek against Andrea’s shoulder. 

“I’m wearing your gifts,” Cloud murmurs. He meets Andrea’s gaze, feeling only the faintest warmth on his cheeks. Still, Andrea’s attention is always intense, always breathtaking. The man himself is almost too enchanting to look at. 

“I noticed,” Andrea says and lays a kiss on Cloud’s hair. His warm fingers tease beneath Cloud’s collar, brushing against the thin silver chain. “Talking about gifts - “

“You didn’t get me something else again, did you? I - “ 

Andrea places an elegant finger against Cloud’s lips and winks. “Now, now, honey. You don’t have to accept anything I give to you, but it would give me great pleasure.” 

Cloud huffs, gently pats Andrea’s hand away, but remains nuzzled close to him. Pulling his lip between his teeth, Cloud hesitates. Something warm gathers to the bottom of his stomach, spreading through his veins. “I wouldn’t… dare to take any of those gifts with me. I might tear them.” He tugs the necklace out of its hiding place, lets the sky blue jewel drip against his chest. He brushes it with a gentle fingertip. “I do like this though.” 

“And that makes me extremely happy to hear, honey,” Andrea says and kisses his hair again, fingertips still teasing Cloud’s neck. “Now, unless you wish for a drink or a bath, shall I show you what I have gotten for you?”

“Do I have a choice?” Cloud snarks, but smiles the tiniest, softest little smile against the kiss pressed to his lips, Andrea’s fingers on his chin. 

“With me, you always do,” Andrea says. He pulls Cloud from the couch, leading him to his spacious clothes room. Row upon row of costumes, shelf upon shelf of neatly folded undergarments. Silk and velvet and neatly ironed cotton and all other things Cloud can’t name. The warmth in his stomach blooms hotter. He squeezes Andrea’s hand before letting go. 

Andrea glides into the forest of clothes. He always walks with a perfect posture, carries himself like a god. 

While Cloud waits and watches, he idly pulls his little ponytail free. Few strands are long enough to tug behind his ear, which now holds a couple of more studs, all silver and shiny. This thing between him and Andrea has been going on for a couple of months, not quite long enough for Cloud to not feel jittery. 

“Have you given thought to what we talked about last time? On the phone, I mean,” Andrea’s voice drifts from between ruffles and lace. He has a few things in his arms, electric blue and pale pink, a green the colour of Lifestream. 

Cloud blushes. He bites back a frustrated groan, runs his hands through his face. Mostly they exchange texts. Andrea’s are long and flowery, coming at the oddest hours during the night. But that phone call - it had been a continuation of another conversation, about gender, presentation, masculinity, femininity. Andrea had talked. Cloud had listened. Andrea is so certain of himself. Some of his secrets he keeps to himself, but some he has shared with Cloud: a childhood in the North, teenage years spent mostly in the Golden Saucer. Some days Andrea had had to fight to get his stomach full. 

Andrea has the kind of wisdom that comes with experience, with his years. When asked about his age, he winks and taps Cloud’s curious lips with his finger.

Andrea Rhodea is unlike anyone Cloud has ever seen, and the thoughts and feelings Andrea has awoken within Cloud are something he’s never - well. Never thought before. Never felt before. That first time, right before Don Corneo’s beady little eyes and wandering hands, it had been so quick and so strange, Cloud barely hiding his confusion and frustration behind his carefully held up facade. But Andrea had looked at him, even then, intense and certain, so certain of himself and of Cloud. 

And the dress. Well. It had honestly felt a little restricting. But the way the girls had reacted, the way the Wall Market-wanderers had reacted… remembering it makes Cloud blush, even now. 

He had liked it. The corset around his little waist. The skirt swishing against his legs. 

He hadn’t thought of any of those things before. Being from a small country town, where people lived and died in the same ways, Cloud had never thought of himself as having any other possibility except to be the great, masculine man his mother had always thought of him as. The same had continued through Shinra and soldier training, surrounded by locker room talk and insults about his appearance, harassment about his pretty face. 

Cloud still feels like he doesn’t understand, not entirely. But Andrea’s words, during that strange first meeting, in the middle of blinding lights, had awoken something in him. Wishes of things that he had never before wished for: to feel more than just blood or mako or steel against his skin. To always feel like Andrea makes him feel. 

Andrea’s hand is warm against his cheek. Andrea’s smile is kind. 

Cloud can’t help but smile back, lower his gaze to the pile of fabrics in Andrea’s arms. “Yeah, I have. We - well. I’ve had some talks. With my friends. We don’t really have the time to sit around that much, but sometimes, we get to talking.” They all come from different backgrounds, different lives, come together for the single goal of saving the Planet. And they all look up to him. Even when they’re older, wiser, still they listen to Cloud, still they wrap him in hugs when he least expects it - or aggressively adoring pats on the back. 

Cloud lets out a little laugh as he’s lead back to the living room, Andrea dumping the pile in his arms to the couch. “I haven’t told them everything. I mean. They know I’m coming here to see you.” Cloud’s ears burn. “Which, uh. I didn’t exactly tell them. But Aerith is very happy that I’m .. well. Happy. And then she’s practically adopted Yuffie as her little sister and well. I like Yuffie, but she is kind of the annoying little sister I’ve never had and she’s a blabbermouth. So now they all know.” 

Andrea’s hands settle on Cloud’s waist, gently tugging up his turtleneck. Cloud’s nose wrinkles as he puts his arms up, lets Andrea divest him of his shirt. “They know of our scandalous affair?” Andrea purrs and takes the opportunity to kiss Cloud’s nose. “How this strange Wall Market-crawler has seduced their illustrious leader with his womanly wiles?” 

Cloud snorts. “Nobody’s seducing me.” 

Andrea huffs and begins tugging Cloud’s belt open. “Well, I think I did a rather fabulous job of that, did I not, my dear? Oh, that look of adorable confusion when we first met.” 

Cloud lets Andrea take the lead and rolls his eyes, fond. “I’m not as innocent as you think. And you’re not seducing me. I just - I just like the clothes.” Cloud begins shimmying out of his pants. “Gonna give me a bath?” Trying out a little crooked grin is worth it, because Andrea’s eyes darken. 

  
“Oh, my lovely boy, I certainly will. I will not have you ruining the clothes.” Andrea’s thumbs brush Cloud’s hipbones. “For what it’s worth, my boy, it makes me very happy that you are still coming back to me.” 

Cloud huffs, presses his forehead against Andrea’s shoulder. “I love my friends, but… with them I sometimes feel like I have to be the leader, you know? I can’t just be Cloud. And as much as the girls love that I am better in my own skin, they have just as much to focus on as the rest of us. But you - you feel like this, steady place to me. Like I can come here and you will just touch me and pamper me and I will be allowed to just be Cloud. Just Cloud.”

Andrea pulls him into a real hug, nuzzles against Cloud’s jaw. “You talk so much with me,” Andrea murmurs. “It makes me very, very happy to hear that you feel that way with me. And there is no just with you. You are whatever you wish to be. If you wish to feel beautiful, then I am your man. If you wish to feel free, then I am also your man.” Andrea pulls back, cups Cloud’s face and presses a wet kiss on Cloud’s forehead, grinning when Cloud’s rare jewel of a laugh rings out.

“You are really one of a kind.” Cloud swats Andrea’s arms away and shakes his head, fondly. “Come on then, Andi, bathe me.” 

For once, this fabulous being of a man is left speechless. It’s always  _ hey you, Andrea, a coy little Mr. Rhodea. _ Never Andi, the silly sweet nickname reserved for Andrea’s favourite Bees. “Oh, it is I who has been seduced,” Andrea hums and follows Cloud to the bathroom. 

Andrea sets up the bath, this curious, large thing, fills it with pleasantly warm water, sprinkles some lavender, something else that smells pleasant, yet not overly sweet on top. Cloud sheds his boxers and steps in, curls his fingers around Andrea’s arm, claiming that he doesn’t need help. But Andrea’s touch is always welcomed, always calming. 

“There, lean back, my dear.” Andrea brushes blond strands out of Cloud’s eyes. “Your hair is getting long. Do you wish to keep it that way?” 

Cloud settles in, blinks his baby blues at Andrea, who has taken a seat on the edge of the tub. “Yeah. It’s fine.” 

“You and your  _ ‘I’m fine. It’s fine.’” _ Andrea flicks his nose. Andrea rolls up his sleeves and reaches for one of the fluffy little sponges hanging on the wall. Cloud soaks and watches Andrea, letting the aches and pains in his limbs lessen until they’re nothing but a dull throb. At least the frequent use of the Cure-materia or Aerith’s powers leaves the physical reminders of battles as mostly memories. 

Andrea begins to hum as he wets the sponge, pours a little of his bath soap on it, squeezes. He takes Cloud’s arm between his own and begins to rub. 

Cloud lets out a sigh. “Wall Market looks really different these days.”

Andrea nods, the sponge moving in calming, small circles. Andrea’s hands are now soaked, soapy, but still just as steady and lovely as ever. “That it does. Only the Planet itself knows how much damage we did by letting the Don do what he wants,” Andrea murmurs. A shadow passes by his handsome face. “We grew so complacent. I grew complacent. You know I love this place. I built a lot of it with my own hands.” He meets Cloud’s eye. One of Andrea’s secrets, right here. Andrea smiles, soft, sad. “All I can do is to try to make it all better. Perhaps I could move, above the Plate, into some other city. But Wall Market is my home. This, the Honeybee, it is mine. Sometimes I think I don’t deserve to keep it.” Andrea reaches to flick Cloud’s nose again and Cloud lets him, intrigued, curious, saddened by the shadow on Andrea’s face. “Sometimes I think I don’t deserve to keep you.” 

“Bullshit,” Cloud huffs. He offers his other arm for washing. 

“I am not a good man, my dear. None of us, Sam, or our dear Madam, are good people. We are merely people. We made a mistake - no. Calling it a mistake feels a tad too trivializing. I do not know if we could have stopped the Don from running his business and involving us. Perhaps we could have. Perhaps we would have lost our own businesses, our own lives. The Don is impossibly rich, after all, and had his claws on us all.” Andrea shifts, leans forward to press a kiss to Cloud’s hair. His lips linger. “And it is you, my hero, who chased him out.” 

Cloud pinches Andrea’s thigh. “Shut up. It wasn’t just me.” But the pleased little flush on his cheeks betrays him, as usual. 

Andrea laughs. “Wall Market truly has changed. Our Madam M might be ruthless in her own way, but she always hated the Don, always hated dancing to his tune. Perhaps the most out of the three of us.” He sighs. “But enough of that. You did not come here to hear me talk. You came here to be my darling boy. Now turn, I’ll wash your back.” 

The water sloshes. The lavender is stuck to Cloud’s skin, like purple little beautymarks. Cloud lets his head drop as Andrea washes him, gentle and slow. Cloud inhales deeply, exhales slowly. 

“You’re not a bad man, Andi,” Cloud murmurs. “Believe me, I know bad men.” His eyes flutter closed as Andrea makes him turn around and begins washing his front. Warmly, fondly, Andrea washes him thoroughly, brushes tickling fingertips over the curve of Cloud’s thigh, Cloud’s toes curling between Andrea’s hands and the warm, soapy sponge. 

The last is Cloud’s hair: the thick mess of blond spikes, now grown into a worse mess. Andrea takes great care with it, combing through each hair, making idle conversation.

And the compliments.

Gods. Lifestream. Sephiroth, come and strike Cloud down, because he can’t stop blushing. One would think that he would be used to this by now: the pet names that Andrea throws around like candy, the compliments. But Andrea purrs Cloud’s name like his name itself is a treasure: whispers compliments in between rubbing Cloud’s scalp, calls him beautiful, praises him for being so good for Andrea. 

The sponge is removed, but the hands remain, massaging, caressing. Cloud shivers, his cock half hard between his thighs. But he keeps his hands on his lap, his eyes closed. 

Cloud’s eyelids feel impossibly heavy when Andrea finally pulls away. Andrea’s laughter drifts to Cloud like from afar. “You are too sweet, my beautiful boy. Soak for a little while longer, you deserve it.” Another kiss is pressed to Cloud’s brow, his head gently laid against something soft. “I’ll be right here, my sweetheart.” 

So Cloud drifts, into this soft place in his mind. Maybe he falls asleep, even. Because the next thing he knows, he’s being kissed, his cheek caressed. 

“Hello again, my dear,” Andrea murmurs and helps him out of the tub, onto unsteady legs.

Cloud smiles and nuzzles Andrea’s jaw. “Thanks. I really needed that.” 

“Mmm. I know you did. Truly, do your friends not give you massages? It is an excellent way to bond.” Andrea wraps him in a giant, fluffy towel, and takes out another, smaller one, just to begin rubbing most of the excess moisture out of Cloud’s hair. 

“They don’t,” Cloud huffs. “We’re busy people. We’ve begun hugging though.” Cloud looks down, unable to shake the little smile from his lips. “It… it feels nice. I never thought touch could feel so nice.” 

Andrea hums in agreement. “Oh, it can. It can be very pleasurable.” He tosses Cloud a wink, after freeing him from the smaller towel. 

Cloud’s nose wrinkles. “Maybe someday.” Not that he is entirely uninterested in things of sexual nature. Mostly he isn’t. It just doesn’t feel like it’s for him. But kissing, at least, feels nice. Cloud is fine with getting his hair pet, the occasional hug or hair ruffle. 

Andrea squeezes his bicep. “You never have to do anything with me you do not want to, my dear. This is your safe space too.” Andrea winks again, ruffles Cloud’s hair. “I appreciate you letting me indulge in kissing you.” 

Cloud huffs. “Kissing isn’t too bad.” He gets to drying himself off, still flushed under Andrea’s scrutiny. 

“Too bad, he says.” Andrea clicks his tongue. “Ah, Goddesses, Gods, what am I to do with this delightful little creature who appeared on my door?” He turns, opens the door back to the living area. “Just wait a moment, my dear, I will bring you a little gift.” Andrea floats out of the bathroom, out of sight. 

Cloud is finishing drying himself up, bundling up the towel, wondering where to toss it to dry, when Andrea returns. 

“I remember the last time you stayed over, was when you requested something a little more dainty for undergarments. I hope these are to your liking.” Andrea lays the very small, very pale pink pile by the bathtub. He reaches to unplug it, so the water starts running out. Andrea wipes his hands, throws another one of his dark, intense gazes at Cloud. 

Cloud hangs up the towel, smooths his hands down his sides, aware of being watched. He clears his throat. 

Andrea smiles, encouraging. “You seem to have lost a little weight since the last time, but they should be very fitting for you. Oh, honey. You are so unbelievably beautiful.” He rummages through his neatly organized bathroom drawers for the hairdryer, while Cloud begins unfolding the little pile, cheeks and ears burning. The material is something smooth, almost like silk. The colour is the same as the blush on his face right now. 

“You can look,” Cloud murmurs. He starts pulling on the silky lingerie on: his cock tugged neatly into the panties, a little blue bow above his ass, catching the eye. The bralette is less a bra, but more of a collection of straps, framing Cloud’s chest, a thin layer of fine lace covering his blushing, peaked nipples. Without even asking, Andrea straightens up to help him, warm fingers brushing Cloud’s skin. 

“Beautiful,” Andrea purrs, his fingers dancing over Cloud’s hip, over his abs. 

Cloud quivers against the touch and rubs his neck. Maybe he has gotten braver, because he takes the bundled up socks and heads for the door, throwing a look over his shoulder that he hopes is coy. “Help me out?”

“It is my pleasure, my dear,” is Andrea’s answer.

So to the living room they go. Andrea puts on music from the old, old gramophone playing something upbeat and fun, a song Andrea knows. He starts to hum it as he helps Cloud pull on the stockings, presses a kiss, then another, to Cloud’s knee and tickles his thigh. Cloud huffs and shoves him off, pink-cheeked, heart racing the longer Andrea watches him. Andrea clips on the garters and helps him stand up, squeezing him into a brief hug.

The dress this time is as light as a feather, every brush of the hem against Cloud’s stockinged legs. It is one of the lighter, both in colour and fabric, of the dresses Cloud’s worn: nothing like the heaviness of the more gothic dresses or the tight corsets. Not that Cloud doesn’t like those too, but sometimes this is fine enough: a bow around his waist, tightened, the top part loose and see-through. The fabric is a gentle pale pink, turning lighter, little by little towards the hem, until it’s pure white. Cloud’s heart thuds rapidly in his chest, his cheeks burning hot. He smooths the hem, does a careful little twirl. 

Andrea lets out a low whistle. “Darling,” he purrs. He pulls Cloud closer and kisses his palm. “You look radiant! Now, perhaps a touch of make-up? I have just the eyeshadow in mind.” 

Cloud bites his lip. Andrea’s thumb brushes against it. “We can go without. You glow without it too.” 

Cloud groans. “Andrea.” Who else showers him with compliments like this? Who else even knows he craves it, truly? 

“Mmm. Don’t be bashful, my blue-eyed seductress. You are radiant.” Andrea’s arm sneaks around his waist. “Want to look in the mirror first?” 

Cloud leans against his companion, breathes in Andrea’s warm, familiar scent. “Yeah. I think so. Yeah.” He leads them to one of the three full-length mirrors in Andrea’s apartment and inhales deeply, slowly, before looking. 

Andrea’s fingers begin carding through his hair as Cloud looks, takes in the sight of himself wrapped in whisper-thin pale pink, his collarbones, his muscled arms visible. Yet the dress is so fragile, so pretty, that Cloud can sort of see what Andrea means: that the face of masculinity that Cloud has worn all his life hasn’t been all he is. That maybe he can be this too: called beautiful, dressed in beautiful things. 

Andrea ties what hair he can into a ponytail with quick fingers, brushes a few unruly spikes from Cloud’s face. Andrea kisses Cloud’s temple, only seems to have eyes for him. 

“Beautiful. Simply sublime. My boy, my beautiful hero.” Andrea’s eyes twinkle with amusement. 

Cloud, still red-faced, glances at him. “You’re too much,” Cloud huffs. “Come on, put some make-up on me if you want.” He wets his lips, shifts his feet, presses a kiss to Andrea’s jaw, enjoying the feeling of neatly trimmed stubble against his lips. “Something pretty?” 

Andrea hums, pleased. He takes Cloud’s hand and leads him back to the couch and makes him sit down. So Cloud sits still and lets Andrea float to his dressing table and then back, a giant bag in tow. It’s as sparkly and overwhelming as Andrea himself, and Andrea rummages through it to gather the things he needs. 

“Now then, only look at me, my love. I’ll take good care of you.”

Cloud smiles. “Yeah. You do.” He lets out a startled little laugh when Andrea leans down to kiss his mouth. 

“Ah, you are simply too sweet!” Andrea’s own smile lingers as he starts his work. The movements of his brushes are precise. He tells Cloud to close his eyes. To open them. To keep his mouth still, to purse his lips. Every moment Cloud can, he is watching Andrea: the little concentrated frown between Andrea’s eyebrows, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips as he focuses. 

Ah. Andrea is the one who is too much. Too handsome. Too lively. Too certain of himself. To think that it was Cloud who caught Andrea’s attention: messed up, melancholic, quiet little Cloud who thought for the longest time that his only worth was the way he uses his sword. But Andrea’s attention he had gotten, and still keeps.

Like this, in private, Andrea likes to chatter. His honey-smooth voice flows, as he tells Cloud of his work, of himself worrying over one of his favourite Bees getting injured after a freak accident with a Chocobo, of his night outs with Madam M and Sam. The tales fade into the ether once Andrea pulls away and smacks his lips. He winks at Cloud. 

“Ah. You are a masterpiece.”

The last thing he does is to brush Cloud’s freely fallen hair, to pin what he can behind his ear. Every moment of sitting still is rewarded with a little kiss. 

Cloud twists his hands on his lap, his limbs still warm from his bath and the massage, his heart thumping louder and louder. He blinks at Andrea, wets his lips. 

“You’re too much,” Cloud murmurs again, but offers his hand. The nail polish might still be drying, but Andrea takes his hand anyway and pulls him up. 

“The mirror?” 

Cloud takes a deep, calming breath. “Yeah.”

He’s lead to the mirror again, Andrea taking a spot behind him, nuzzling against his neck. “I only take what is already there, my dear.” Andrea keeps his hands on Cloud’s hips, steadying him. “With or without all of this, you are simply ethereal.” 

  
  


So Cloud looks. 

  
  


This person, not a woman, not a man, perhaps both - it doesn’t matter - looks back at him, blue eyes made to look even bigger by expert eyeliner, a hint of blue and pale pink on his eyelids, something shiny on his cheekbones, making them stand out even further. His lips look glossy and frankly, kissable. 

Cloud looks and looks and looks and can’t get enough, that this is him. Perhaps he doesn’t quite know to this day what he thinks of himself, what he feels about the line between masculine and feminine, but he is trying, and the light at the end of this particular tunnel feels more inviting, definitely brighter. 

“I look…” Cloud swallows, hard. The strength of his body is undeniable. How well this soft thing fits on him is undeniable. 

Andrea looks at him through the mirror too, eyes glimmering. “How do you feel, my love? I know it is a little more dainty of a dress than you’re used to, but it brings out your flawless skin even more. And with this little belt, I can still appreciate your gorgeous waistline.” Andrea’s fingers caress said waistline teasingly, before sneaking to the front. Andrea hugs him from behind. 

Cloud smiles at him through the mirror, reaching up to touch his own lips. Smiling, huh. It didn’t use to be this easy. 

“I look good,” Cloud manages then and finally wrenches his gaze away from the mirror and to Andrea. 

“Yes, you do, my dear,” Andrea purrs. “Now… what do you wish to do? Dance with me? I do have some delightful movies I feel you might enjoy. And a generous lap, perfect for cuddles.” 

Cloud snorts, but reaches for Andrea to brush his jaw. “Cuddles sound nice.”

They share a kiss then, brief, but sweet. “Cuddles it is then, beautiful,” Andrea says and takes him to the couch by the hand. 

After Andrea puts on the movie, Cloud settles on his lap, nestled comfortably against Andrea’s chest. “I might fall asleep on you,” Cloud murmurs. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” is Andrea’s amused, fond reply. 

**Author's Note:**

> as always you can find me and my hundred side accounts (i have 3, actually ;)) on [twitter](https://twitter.com/allodole)


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